


The Christmas Cookie War

by RagingBookDragon



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Party, Connor wants them, Established Relationship, He's gonna sneak into the kitchen, Humor, Reader is making cookies, She said no., Threats of Violence, making cookies, that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagingBookDragon/pseuds/RagingBookDragon
Summary: Connor was sneaky. Which was good when it came to his career as an Assassin. On the rare times that she’d actually seen him in action, she was utterly blown away at how such a heavily built person could move with such stillness. She’d watched him take down every soldier in the fort within minutes, and not a single alarm bell had been rung, nor did any soldier see or hear him coming—he was a master hunter, and she was proud that he used his skills for the better. That being said, Connor had a streak of using his skills for the worse.
Relationships: Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor & Reader, Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	The Christmas Cookie War

**Author's Note:**

> Day 14 of The Christmas Fics! Have a fantastic holiday! Make some cookies! All kinds! Enjoy! -Thorne

Connor was sneaky. Which was good when it came to his career as an Assassin. On the rare times that she’d actually seen him in action, she was utterly blown away at how such a heavily built person could move with such stillness. She’d watched him take down every soldier in the fort within minutes, and not a single alarm bell had been rung, nor did any soldier see or hear him coming—he was a master hunter, and she was proud that he used his skills for the better. That being said, Connor had a streak of using his skills for the worse.

*******

She glared at him for what seemed like the millionth time and pointed to the doorway.

“Out with you,” she commanded. “You’re not allowed to put one foot in this kitchen until I tell you to.”

Connor shifted his weight between his feet, standing just outside the entrance to the kitchen. “But (Y/N),” he whined. “The cookies.” His eyes shifted to the tray she was about to put on the rack at the fireplace.

Shaking her head, she denounced, “But _nothing_ , Ratonhnhaké:ton. If everyone else has to wait for the cookies to be made, baked, and cooled, then so do you.”

She narrowed her gaze and shoved the wooden spoon in his face. “If I catch you in here again, I will welt your hands black and blue.”

He met her stare head-on and she could see him internally mulling the pros and cons over before his amber eyes flashed with indignation, and she knew he was taking it as a personal challenge.

Connor conceded and tipped his head down. “As you wish, (Y/N).” He stood back up and asked, “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”

Huffing, she remarked “I know what you’re doing Ratonhnhaké:ton.” She spun on her heel and marched over to the table. “Please take this in the nicest way possible, my beloved,” (Y/N) met his gaze and hissed, “ _Get lost_.”

A growl sounded from his throat, but he turned and stalked off, the door slamming, signaling his exit. With satisfaction, she turned back to the bowl of flour on the first side table, watching as he walked past the window outside, glaring at her; she stuck her tongue out at him. _Let the games begin._

*******

The entire house smelled like one giant, mouthwatering concoction of every dessert ever made, and on more than one occasion, Achilles had drifted in to see what she was making for the Christmas party. Happy knowing that it all smelled wonderful, she’d showed him the trays of cookies and pies, managing to ease his dislike of the giant mess along the table with a promise of cleaning later. He complimented her on the outcomes of each dessert, especially the chocolate chip snickerdoodles she’d made—which also happened to be the cookies that Connor was hellbent on snatching from her.

Achilles wiped his mouth on the handkerchief he carried and nodded his head. “Those are excellent, (Y/N). Sweet, but not overpoweringly so.”

A warmth grew on her cheeks at the praise, because she knew that the old man wasn’t one to give it unless truly deserved—and even then, it was hard to get it out of him.

“Thank you, Achilles.” She murmured, turning her gaze to the crackling fireplace, a tray of apple pies baking to perfection.

“Has Connor come in yet?” he asked, humor in his tone.

(Y/N) tossed a glare over her shoulder. “Oh, he definitely has. _Twice_.” She scanned the kitchen, craning her neck to see into the dining room—he wasn’t in there. “I’m waiting for him to try again.”

The old man leaned on his cane, umber eyes regarding her with an amusing look. “You think he will?”

She scoffed and flattened the dough with a rolling pin. “I’d bet my last pound he will. The only thing bigger than his heart is his sweet tooth.” She paused and pointed the pin at him. “Mark my words, he’ll die by sugar coma if he doesn’t keel over of old age first.”

Achilles simply snorted and the rapping of his cane against the hardwood floor left her alone in the kitchen.

(Y/N) grabbed one of the cookie cutters and began cutting out the shapes of little men. With a smile, she placed them on the tray and switched them out for the pies that were done. Setting the pies aside, she swiftly turned and looked around, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

She grabbed the wooden spoon and walked to the entrance of the kitchen, sticking her head into the entryway. It was clear, and a quick glance to the hallway showed a spotless center as well—still, it didn’t ease the wariness and she moved back into the kitchen.

“ _I_ _know_ you’re in here, Ratonhnhaké:ton.” (Y/N) walked to the dining room. “Let me catch you with a cookie,” she warned. “I’ll break a finger.”

Grabbing the handles of the dining room doors, she swung them shut and with a click, she locked the doors. _Only one way in and out_. She thought with a smug smile.

Though something felt off, she set the feeling aside and focused on the rest of the desserts, knowing that she had only a couple more hours until the Christmas party—she had to finish early.

As she passed by the clothed table, she paused and scanned the surface, satisfied that nothing had been touched. (Y/N) yanked the cookbook over to her and leaned over, reading over the recipe.

“Now let’s see…what were those treats that Father Timothy wanted?” she ran a finger down the page. “Sugar plums! That was it.” Her eyes drifted around the kitchen. “Do we even have any plums?”

Frowning, she checked the baskets in the corner of the kitchen, standing on her tippytoes as she looked in. She rummaged around a bit, then smiled as she found a bag of them.

“Here we go—” a thump sounded behind her and she whirled around, surveying the kitchen. She ran to the table and examined each tray until she came across the chocolate chip snickerdoodles—one of them was gone.

A growl escaped her, and she ran to the entryway, glancing in both directions. “Where are you!” she yelled. “I know you were in here!” (Y/N) ran through the hall to Achilles’s study, glowering inside.

The old man cocked a salt and pepper brow at her, but said nothing and she turned, sprinting up the stairs to check the bedrooms and galleries. Still, they were empty, and by the time she returned to the kitchen, she was about to tear her hair out. (Y/N) made thirty of those cookies—eight were missing.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton!” she screeched. “When I get my hands on you, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—I’m— ** _ARGH_**!” Snarling, she slammed her heel into the ground. “I am going to make you a sorry man.”

(Y/N) sat down at the table and put her head in her hands, silently simmering with unbridled rage. Impulsively, she kicked out her legs and upon feeling her foot brush something she went still, suddenly calm.

She placed her hands flat on the table and seethed, “ _Are you underneath this table_?”

A moment of silence passed, then she heard a quiet, “I love you, (Y/N).”

She leaned down and raised the tablecloth, staring into Connor’s wide eyes. The smile she gave him sent shivers up his spine and warning bells in his brain.

“I love you too, Ratonhnhaké:ton,” she said sweetly.

He swallowed thickly. “You—you do?” he questioned warily.

(Y/N) nodded. “I do.” Her face contorted from the kindness he loved to a wrath he’d never seen before nor wanted to see again. “But you have five seconds to run or I’m—”

She didn’t even get to finish her threat and he was scrambling madly from beneath the table, her clambering off the bench after him. She’d _never_ heard Connor scream before, but the howl of terror that left him as he sprinted from the kitchen to the stairs told her he was in a state of _pure fear_.

“ **COME BACK HERE**!” she fumed.

Connor gave a cry as he stood behind the stair railings, her glowering at him from the top step. “ _FORGIVE ME (Y/N)_!”

If she’d been a cat, she would’ve hissed at him. “I’m gonna forgive you when I kick your butt!” As she set foot on the second floor, he turned on his heel and leaped over the railing to the back door.

(Y/N)’s eyes went wide, and she ran to the railing, staring down at him. “ _Don’t you dare_ ,” she growled, and he smirked at her before disappearing into the kitchen, returning moments later with the tray of cookies.

“ _Put_. _Those_. _Back_.” She demanded and he raised one to his mouth and took a bite.

“You have outdone yourself Otsi’tsa. They taste fantastic.” He replied before shoving the rest of the cookie into his mouth and fumbling behind him for the doorknob.

She glared at him as he pulled the door open and started backwards outside. “You’re a _dead man_ when you come back tonight.”

Connor shrugged. “I have lived off the land all my life.” He met her gaze and retorted, “Who says I cannot do it tonight?”

(Y/N) placed her hands on the railings and leaned over. “Oh beloved, you’re gonna be doing it for a _week_ after _this_ little stunt.”

“We shall see,” he winked.

Sensing that her threats were falling on deaf ears, she stood straight and glared down her nose at him. “ _Come back tonight then_. _**I dare you**_.” Connor chuckled and disappeared outside, leaving her to fume.

A silence entered the manor, then she heard from the stairwell, “That was your fault for not checking under the table.” Her face pinched at Achilles’s quip, then a devious idea came across her.

“Achilles, do we have any beet roots?” she asked.

“Probably in the baskets.” He went quiet. “ _Why_?”

His question was hesitant and (Y/N) grinned evilly. “Rule number one of starting a war, Achilles. _Don’t leave your gear where the enemy can find it_.”

She walked down the stairs and smiled at him. “ _I think Ratonhnhaké:ton will look absolutely wonderful in pink robes_ , _don’t you agree_?” He simply sighed in return.


End file.
